My Mother's husband Is My Sugardaddy

: New Yo

me today, but if you still feel sick by the afternoon, I'm taking you to the doctor." Adriana nodded, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. Still feeling slightly uneasy, Luci left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. In the dimly lit dining area, Francis Monroe sat at the table, sipping his black coffee as he scanned through the morning newspaper. He was a man of precision-his suits always pressed, his watch always set five minutes ahead, his day scheduled down to the last second. His entire presence exuded authority, a man used to being in control, both in the boardroom and at home. Luci entered, placing a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon before him. "Adriana's staying home today," she said, taking her seat. Francis raised a brow, setting the paper aside. "Is she sick?" "She says she has a fever, but she didn't feel warm. I'll check on her again later." Francis took a bite of his food, nodding absently. He wasn't particularly close to Adriana-he had only been in her life for a year since he married Luci. At first, Adriana had despised him, making it clear that she saw him as an intruder. Over time, the hostility had waned, but their relationship remained distant, polite at best. Luci glanced at the clock. "I have to leave early today. There's a board meeting, and Mr. Calloway wants me to help with the preparations." Francis nodded, sipping his coffee. "What time will you be back?" "Probably late. If Adriana gets worse, please call me." "I will," he said, but there was something detached in his tone as if he had already moved on from the conversation. Luci finished her breakfast quickly and kissed him lightly on the cheek before grabbing her purse. "I'll see you tonight," she said as she walked toward the door. Francis merely nodded, returning to his paper. As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the apartment deepened. A few minutes passed before the stillness was broken. The soft creak of a door. The gentle padding of bare feet against the floor. Adriana emerged from her room, wearing nothing but a sheer, silk revealing nightdress that clung to her frame. It was almost as if she had been waiting for the moment her mother left. She moved with calculated ease, her steps slow and deliberate, as she approached the dining area. Francis, still lost in the newspaper, barely noticed her presence until she was standing right beside